The Perfect Summer Evening

As the days get longer, and we all start getting our boats ready for the new season, I'm really looking forward to those 'lazy, hazy days' of summer.
One of those days in particular, from last year, stands out in my memory. It was the quintessential cruising evening for Michael and I, and I placed it firmly in my memory banks to pull up on those long, dreary, damp winter days that are all behind us now (RIGHT)? Now that there’s hope for summer, the story can be told….
Several times last summer, our bow pointed in the direction of Shingle Spit on Hornby Island, which, for landlubbers, is where the Denman Island ferry comes in. The Hornby Island Resort is there, and it houses The Thatch pub.
The Wind Walker left her digs at the Deep Bay Marina at about 3:00 pm, under a blazing hot sun. We sliced through the calm-like-glass waters of Baynes Sound, and around Chrome Island, where small boats were getting set up for the evening's try at 'the big one.' Even under the canopy on the bridge, we could feel the heat from the sun, and only a hint of a breeze off the water. Ah, summer!
We let the ferry slide into her berth ahead of us, and then coasted around behind the pile-ons into the little bay formed by the spit jutting out from the western shore of Hornby Island. Dropping anchor just off the shoreline in about 20' of water, we immediately dove off the grid for a cooling swim in the clear waters around us. Then we stretched out on the deck of the boat to dry, entertained by a great blue heron on shore fishing for its supper.
By the time we were dry, our tummies were hinting that it was our turn to eat. The heat had made me lazy, so I suggested that we go ashore and treat ourselves to dinner at the Thatch.
Off we went in the dinghy, which pulled up nicely on the sand below the restaurant. A beach volleyball tournament was getting underway, and someone turned on a stereo, so the sounds of light rock carried across the beach up onto the deck of the pub. We found a shaded table, and settled ourselves under the umbrella. Turned out there was a buffet-style dinner being served that evening, so we were able to help ourselves to a great meal, with a combination of hot and cold foods, while never taking our eyes off the scene in front of us.
Looking out from Shingle Spit across Lambert Channel, we could see 3 or 4 kayakers making their way toward Ford's Cove, further south of us on Hornby. The Wind Walker bobbed on her chain, and a young woman drifted by in front of the dock on an inflatable air mattress, earphones making her oblivious to all but her different drums. The sun beat down on us all, the volleyball bounced over the net, the waitress brought us more ice water.
Down at the waterline, a little girl, about two years old and stark naked, played in the water. A little boy, slightly older and more clothed and probably her big brother, played with her. Both could be heard above the rock music, laughing and splashing and being children, on the beach on a hot summer day. As we watched, the little girl caught sight of her mom sitting at a picnic table next to the volleyball court, and wandered over toward her.
As soon as she was out of sight, the little boy wandered along the beach, and, shielded by the volleyball team, picked up his sister's clothing from a heap in the sand. Like a man with a mission, he walked resolutely over to the water's edge, plunged that clothing unceremoniously into the water, and then headed up the beach to deliver it to his sister. Complete with the cutest little evil grin I've ever seen.

Ah, the lazy, hazy days of summer ...